Then the master bedroom, the place where Celia had slept not long since, completed its descent earthward. The guest bedroom soon followed, and I could almost see the cheerful wallpaper full of repressed dreams going up in smoke, rainbows turning brown as unicorns lost their horns.
There goes Tolkien, Hinton, McKinley.
I didn’t get to see the rest of the house disintegrate, though. Instead, Hunter slid me forward so he could hug my torso to his chest, barely skipping a step as he cradled me in his arms.
“Don’t look back. Look forward,” he ordered quietly.
I wasn’t usually so passive, but this time I obeyed without complaint. Ignoring the splintering timbers behind our backs, I turned my attention to the ambulance-turned-field-hospital that we were fast approaching. As Hunter had probably planned, I was immediately heartened by the obvious signs of haste and activity. After all, why would the paramedics be scurrying about if my pack mates were already dead?
But as one ambulance left the driveway with sirens blaring, harsh reality kicked back in. Ambulances meant a hospital, and shifter-kind couldn’t afford anyone other than Celia and Mrs. Sawyer to be checked over by human medical staff.
Pulling up the web of pack connection with an effort, I saw with relief that Nina had indeed been the only injured inhabitant of the first ambulance. My groggy clan members were all attempting to refuse medical assistance, but they were still being loaded into the second vehicle with far more efficiency than I could have hoped for.
Time’s awastin’.
Another dose of adrenaline hit my system with the force of a gallon jug of coffee and I wriggled out of Hunter’s arms as my aching muscles and scorched skin faded from my attention. “We can’t let the pack end up in the hospital,” I said grimly, pushing my mate toward the easier problem while I limped in the opposite direction alone.
Because now that I’d kicked myself in the butt and had gotten my head back into the game, I realized that pesky paramedics were the least of our problems. Hunter would likely be able to sweet talk the medical professionals into releasing my friends into his custody, but the memories of both bystanders and television crew would be a tougher nut to crack.
Had the general public caught Ginger shifting either with eyes or on camera? And, if so, would I be able to make them believe they’d merely fallen prey to a trick of the light? Perhaps to some weird mass hysteria like the one that had fueled the Dancing Plague of 1518?
“You should be on a stretcher.”
For the first time, my stalker’s voice was entirely welcome. “Robert,” I acknowledged, not even glancing in his direction as I raced toward the line of humans being held back by uniformed police officers.
There. My eyes locked onto the person I was looking for and I changed my trajectory slightly so I could intersect his path before he reached his buddies. He was dressed in fireman yellow, but apparently now that the house was a solid loss he’d returned his loyalties to his paid profession. “Lambert!” I yelled, hoping to catch his attention.
The one-body turned, his jaw clenching as he caught sight of the person who he must believe had brought devastation to his beloved’s home and life. Annoyance was followed up by a flicker of fear, the latter emotion suggesting that he’d also caught a good dose of werewolf up close and personal when Ginger broke the Tribunal’s first commandment.
But then Paul’s gaze drifted away from my face and over to the remaining ambulance. There, Celia was being fitted with an oxygen mask, proving that although she was injured she was also alive and awake.
And very much aware of her surroundings. My mother was too far off to hear what Lambert and I said—in fact, we’d yet to exchange more than one word with each other. Still, she took in my quandary at a glance.
Pushing aside her mask against the orders of the attending paramedic, Celia drew herself up onto her elbows. I knew how much effort she was expending since it couldn’t have been more than half an hour since she’d passed out as I tried to drag her up onto my own back. But the supposedly weak woman barely grimaced as she forced her limbs to do her bidding.
She captured Officer Lambert’s attention in its entirety, then mouthed a plea, a request, an order. Help my daughter, she demanded.
For an instant, we balanced on a knife’s edge. I could see Lambert’s deeply ingrained sense of law and order struggling against his possibly requited love for the woman who was even then falling back down onto the stretcher. Her eyes drifted shut and her admirer’s eyelids mirrored the gesture much less gently and with much more agonizing facial contortions.
But it was impossible to deny Celia anything she really wanted. So when the officer joined me with five fast, angry strides, I wasn’t at all surprised by his greeting. “What do you need me to do?” he asked bluntly.
And my shoulders relaxed at last as I allowed myself to hope that we’d be able to navigate this public-relations nightmare after all.
Chapter 27
I was a conductor guiding a tremendous orchestra. Strings—Hunter caught my eye and nodded as he handed off a massive wad of cash to the ambulance driver and accepted the vehicle’s keys in exchange. Brass—Lambert flashed his badge and confiscated the television crew’s memory card while Robert began charming the general audience out of their belief in paranormal events. Woodwinds—Lupe strode up the empty street at the head of a pack of half-wild werewolves, Chuck staggering along in their midst.
Woodwinds? the young woman questioned through our shared pack bond. Her tone was snarky, but her signature taste in my mouth was all rose petals. Are you serious? You think I’m what, a clarinetist?
I was going to say flautist, I responded. You’ve got a bit of a Pied Piper vibe going on. But what would you rather be?
Drums, she answered firmly. Definitely drums.
Percussion then. And percussive they were, cutting through the mayhem like a crash of cymbals as Lupe egged the witch hunter on to reveal his criminal past to the crowd.
Well, with a little help from Ginger, that is. “Oh my god!” the redhead shrieked, her perfect imitation of a Valley girl catching the attention of everyone present...and possibly bursting a few eardrums in the process. “Are those wolves?”
The trouble twin had shifted back on the far side of the ambulance as soon as she saw Cinnamon being carried toward safety, and she must have found a way to regain her clothing as well. Because she now looked far too perfectly groomed for a woman who had recently carried her cousin out of a burning building. I couldn’t be sure from this distance, but I got the distinct impression she’d even applied a coat of makeup to complete the charade.
Once she got her feminine armor in place, Ginger had immediately dove right into the challenge of repairing the rift she’d been responsible for creating in shifter-kind’s cloak of invisibility. Together, she and Robert chatted with one-body after one-body, displaying Ginger’s complete lack of fangs and very obvious presence of entirely human curves.
Still, I’d sensed doubt and uncertainty eddying in the duo’s wake...which was bad news since the Tribunal’s response to a mass werewolf sighting would likely be mass murder. In contrast, the current scene might be just what we needed to sway public opinion in the opposite direction.
“They’re werewolves,” Chuck responded loudly, cringing away from the rogues that had him completely surrounded by their furry bodies. “Werewolves! Evil werewolves!”
The man’s voice was nearly as high-pitched as Ginger’s, his terror lending a hint of madness to his entirely truthful words. I could sense the instigating duo giving each other mental high fives down the web of the pack bond, but I knew we weren’t out of the woods quite yet.
No, the crowd was restless, shifting from foot to foot as they considered the band of tremendous canines coming into view and the strangers trying to change their minds about what they’d seen with their own two eyes. In contrast, Chuck was the self-proclaimed Arborville welcome wagon. Stout and middle-aged, he’d likely patted the head of eve
ry child in the crowd and chatted with every adult present within the last week. Which was more likely—that a trusted friend had gone crazy or that treacherous out-of-towners boasted supernatural powers?
Unfortunately, the consensus seemed to be leaning toward the latter explanation.
But before anyone could outright reject Ginger and Lupe’s insinuations, the rear door of the ambulance creaked open and a new player came onto the scene. Ever so slowly, a slender hand emerged from the back of the vehicle as Celia gradually dragged herself erect.
If anyone looked like a monster out of a horror movie, it was my mother. Half of her hair had been burnt off and her pajamas were singed beyond the limits of human decency. She resembled nothing so much as a zombie...or perhaps the creature from the black lagoon.
Still, when she raised her voice enough to be heard above the muttering of the crowd, her audience stilled immediately. Their attention focused on my mother’s face and they waited with bated breath to hear what she had to say.
I waited with bated breath too. Because while Celia had enlisted Officer Lambert to help me with crowd control ten minutes earlier, I couldn’t quite imagine her willingly dropping that hard-won facade of human perfection by telling bald-faced lies to the people who had taken her in after her husband died.
Your imagination needs a tuneup.
Hunter’s amused mental words buoyed me up now just as profoundly as his previous intrusion into my brain had kept me walking out of the burning building earlier. Even so, my final dose of adrenaline was fading fast. If we didn’t resolve this issue within seconds, I was likely to end up in the back of that ambulance right alongside my pack mates, unable to do anything else to ensure both shifters and townspeople ended this night alive.
I crossed my fingers, hoping Celia would be the ace in the hole I’d been waiting for.
“Werewolves, Chuck?” my mother said, breaking into my mind-wandering. The sky above our heads was still pitch black, so the rotating lights atop the nearby fire truck lit her face with flashes of red followed by instances of near darkness. Atmospheric, my wolf commented and I couldn’t help but agree. My mother had definitely inherited the drama gene from somewhere.
“Werewolves!” Chuck responded obediently. It was almost as if he and she were the only ones present, neither paying attention to the hordes of riveted ears and eyes. “They’re werewolves and you’re a witch!” he shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at my mother.
While the crowd held their collective breath and waited for a reply, Celia stepped all the way out of the ambulance at last. By rights, she shouldn’t have been able to stand under her own volition after everything she’d gone through, but she somehow managed to stretch her back ramrod-stiff anyway.
Unfortunately, the improved posture only exacerbated the evidence of her recent trauma. See, this is what he did to me, Celia said without saying. In response, the crowd released a collective sigh of sympathy for her plight.
Catching my eye, my mother allowed her mouth to quirk up into the tiniest hint of a smile. It was almost as if she were sharing a joke with me and me alone. And, honestly, she probably was. Because Celia was perfectly mimicking my own fake it ‘til you make it approach to dealing with stronger werewolves...and with humans who I didn’t yet trust with my whole heart.
I’d thought myself skilled at misdirection, but my mother proved to be a master at the art of chicanery. No one had the audacity to egg her on. No one turned away in boredom. The townsfolk just continued staring at her partially shaded figure until Celia finally spoke quietly and gently into the night.
“Chuck,” she said to the man who’d done his level best to burn her alive, “I’m sorry I confused you. But those aren’t werewolves. Those are dogs. I was running a rescue operation out of my—” Her voice cracked as she glanced back over one shoulder at what remained of her residence. “—Out of my home.”
Celia tried to force further words out of a constricted throat, but there was no need. The crowd was entirely won over. Confused murmurs turned into angry murmurs. Men, women, and children alike shot virtual daggers at the one-body who many had once considered to be a bosom buddy.
Werewolves were roundly forgotten.
“I would ask you if you’d like to press charges,” Officer Lambert said, stepping through a sea of shifters to snap cuffs onto Chuck’s wrists as he took the virtual floor. “But arson is a felony, so Chuck is headed downtown. Chances are he’ll plead insanity, but we’ll be sure to keep him out of your hair in the future one way or another.”
To my delight, Celia thanked the gruff officer by blowing him a kiss. Then her hand reached back for the ambulance door as she sagged against the frame.
Show over, the crowd began to disperse. And not a moment too soon since my own last dregs of energy were extinguished as well. My vision spun, my knees weakened, and I collapsed into Hunter’s waiting arms.
***
I didn’t actually pass out, though—a good thing too or I would have had to turn in my tough-girl card due to excessive swooning. Still, I let the one-bodies take over the last of the cleanup operation, I let Hunter spirit us all away to a house he’d somehow managed to rent on the outskirts of town, and I let my mate tuck me into the softest bed imaginable without worrying about anyone other than myself.
I woke once in the night, burns, bite, and bruised jaw screaming for relief. But my wolf snagged my skin, tucking the sensations away deep within her consciousness where I didn’t have to feel so much as a twinge of pain. In fur form, we rolled over and fell back asleep.
When I drifted out of dreamland for a second time, the air was redolent with my mate’s scent and Hunter’s broad palm stroked a line of comfort down my aching spine. My muscles tensed as I tried to talk myself into either shifting back to two legs or at least standing upright. But that gentle hand tensed warningly and I subsided without more than a single twitch.
“No,” my mate said, his signature aroma skewing strongly toward the icy spring-water flavor of annoyance. For a split second, I thought he’d found a reason to be pissed at me again, but then my nose picked up a second scent—Stormwinder.
My wolf’s growl was silent and neither of us cracked an eyelid to see what was going on. After all, if Hunter had cautioned us to play opossum, then we trusted him enough to obey. But I did strain my ears to their utmost, catching the creak of floorboards as the Tribunal member paced back and forth in front of the bed where I lay.
I hadn’t liked Stormwinder when he threatened me in the police interrogation room, and I liked him even less now. Sure, his voice was cordial and almost charming as he said, “You don’t really mean that.” But a hint of bitter almond beneath his words suggested the older shifter wasn’t nearly as relaxed as he wanted to appear.
I didn’t trust the guy as far as I could throw him. Luckily, Hunter didn’t seem to be a big fan of our visitor either.
Stormwinder was basically his boss, but my mate didn’t pull his punches when he replied. “I do mean that,” Hunter rebutted.
His hand clenched in my fur and I hoped my presence gave Hunter a modicum of the comfort he always afforded me. Because it was clear Stormwinder had found a way beneath my mate’s skin, as evidenced by both Hunter’s clipped tone and his subsequent words. “I’m not going to ‘deal’ with the leak because it’s already been contained. The one-bodies who are aware of our existence have reasons not to spread the word.”
“Reasons stronger than tabloid money? Reasons stronger than fear and fame?”
I could feel both uber-alphas’ hackles rising even without tapping into the mate bond. The air electrified as a silent but intense dominance battle clashed above my head. My muscles tensed and my wolf skin quivered, my beast reminding us both how easy it would be for Stormwinder to compel our current fur body if he decided to forgo persuasion and resort to brute force.
I shouldn’t be here weakening my mate.
Almost as if my thoughts produced an unfortunate reality, another hand
landed on my hindquarters. This touch wasn’t soft and it wasn’t kind and it was all I could do not to flinch away from the Tribunal member’s supposed caress.
Still, Stormwinder used the same fatherly tone as previously when he spoke next, his attempt at subjugating my mate fleeing as quickly as it had begun. “You’re confused,” the older male said softly. “I understand where you’re coming from, really I do. Young love can be intoxicating. All-encompassing. It can trick you into making choices you’ll later regret.”
An implied threat hung in the air, swaddled in concern and kindness. But I soon realized Hunter hadn’t heard a single word his boss said. Not since the other male put his fingers on my flank, that was.
“Get your hand off my mate,” Hunter growled. His compulsion was so strong this time around that it sucked the air right out of my lungs, encircling my brain in muddy confusion. I itched to obey his order...but I couldn’t actually do so since I was his mate.
Stormwinder affected a chuckle, but he still flinched away from my fur with alacrity. Then, in what I suspected was a case of major backpedaling, he offered: “I’ll have someone else clean up the mess. How about that?”
Since the “mess” included my mother and half of the townspeople that Celia called neighbors, I couldn’t help being relieved when Hunter growled yet louder, not bothering to put his annoyance in words this time around. Only after my lungs were nearly gasping from lack of oxygen did he deign to speak.
“The rogues are mine,” said the bloodling who had recently told me he didn’t see any point in a pack. “Every shifter under this roof is mine. The FBI agent, the cop, all of Arborville is mine. And Fen definitely is mine.”
Just like that, Hunter drew protective walls around everyone his boss could possibly have asked him to kill.
Lone Wolf Dawn (Alpha Underground Book 2) Page 18
